


Armyless Warrior

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post "Chosen", Post Season 07, Post Series, Post Sunnydale, Romance, Slight Drama, Slight drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Sunnydale: Buffy has moved to England, along with everyone else, and is working for the Council again. Nobody feels at home yet. Then, something happens that causes GIles to re-evaluate his life and sends him to rock bottom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armyless Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Written in one go, and in the middle of the night - I take full responsibility for any mistake I've possibly missed when proof-reading it in the morning. ;)  
> I own only what came out of my own head.

**Armyless Warrior**

It's been a year now. She can't say they have mended their relationship, but it's better. She's not sure whether they are even back to being friends yet, but it's enough for the working relationship they have. They had all moved to England, having promised to Giles they'd all take part in helping to educate the Potentials and do research on prophecies talking about a possible next Hellmouth in Scotland. Dawn had started studying at Oxford, with more than generous financial support from him. After Travers' passing, Giles had started working for the Council again, having gotten appointed as one of the leading members, together with Wesley, whom he still despised, but who, admittedly, had gained a lot of experience in the meantime and tried to make up for his lack of practical training. Faith is in charge of military-style workout. Willow trains the Potentials in all that's got to do with magic, with Xander as her assistant. Buffy teaches them tactics and all kinds of martial arts; Giles, while still busy with research for most of the time, helps her out, now and then, and teaches sword fighting and fencing. 

It's not a nice life, really; they all still carry far too much luggage for it to be even a remote kind of peaceful. It's been a _year_ , and none of them feels capable of going back to some kind of normal yet. Sunnydale turns out to be hard to digest. Compared to what that had been like during its last months, though, England is paradise. The worst things to ever happen are bruises or dislocated shoulders either from training or an occasional, mild form of patrol. The underworld is lazy, and life is almost too calm, weren't it for the demons that rummage around in each of their souls. It's hard not to turn bitter, and Buffy suspects herself of being just that every now and then, but it doesn't seem to be only her who is slipping away into such a behaviour. It's a manner of protection; cyncism is a preventive attack on anything that might come around intruding your life, or simply reminding you of the happy times you had, and how they got ruined.

Tonight, she's patrolling alone. Willow would have come along for company, and for chitchat, but today, she isn't in the mood for talking. Everything seems so wrong, like a present one doesn't deserve. Being ripped out of heaven was bad enough, although in the meantime, she's found she has forgiven everyone for doing that. It had been for pretty serious reasons, after all, and she can't deny it reassured her she was being loved. But this feels like some weird kind of having been forgiven for all the bad things and granted something so new, so calm, that it can't be right. She wouldn't know how to explain if anyone asked, but she knows she's missing a piece. Furthermore, this relationship with her Watcher, it ... there are no clear terms, there has never been a talk. They'd just simply gone back to getting along with each other and entertaining a friendly relationship for the sake of work. Not that there would be anything particularly wrong about it, but it just lacks the friendship, the loyalty, the intimacy, well, the secret understanding they once had for each other. 

She sits down on a gravestone. Tonight's boring; she's only dusted one of the guys so far, and it doesn't look as if there were more to come. Still, she can't go back yet; her mind is racing, mostly full of what-ifs and if-onlies. The amount of regret she's feeling would be more than enough for a lifetime. And boy, the time she spent at Sunnydale feels like a lifetime. It feels like having accomplished more than she would have had to, and yet, it's not enough, and she knows she must stay, for there may possibly be more ahead. Also, she knows she can't leave everyone again, not a third time. Especially not Dawn. Strangely, her sister is the only one with whom Buffy feels she's having a genuinely good relationship. Of course, her friends are still her friends, and there's nothing to complain about ... but everyone just seems so hidden in their own nutshell of emotional luggage that it's really hard to get back the easy, bubbly way of conversation. She wonders if that's ever going to happen.

She's playing with her stake. It's sharper and pointier than it would be necessary; she notices that Giles is paying much more attention to sharpening her stakes than he would have to, and it surprises her. He's got so much to do, so many new responsibilities, so many areas of research, and the fencing ... and he still takes such a lot of time to make her stakes. Even though she's damn well capable of making her own. She's never asked him why he still provides her with them, and then, in her head, hears him say something along the lines of, oh, Buffy, you know, I'm still your Watcher, it's a lifetime commitment. Not that he'd ever put it that way. 

And still, she knows it's true. She does consider herself his Slayer, even if Faith and her have - through the Council - become some kind of common property, two valuable assets educating the offspring. It has never really changed; she remembers pushing him away, but she knows it was only teenage stubbornness, and flawed inner reasoning. She had wanted to be independent, and then, when he'd granted her that by going back to England, she'd so wanted him to come back again. It had been a touching reunion when he'd come back, and all the more horrible when he'd gone to England with Willow again. Sure, having him, well, both of them, back after that was nice, and a reassurance - but with all the apocalyptic turmoil around, they had never gotten around to mend what had been waiting to be repaired for far too long. Surprisingly, the circus around Caleb hadn't broken anything more between them, but wounds which aren't tended to take ages longer to heal. 

* * * 

She hops down from the stone and strolls around a small abandoned crypta. Nothing, not even a newbie, not even one of the fire demons that had always been of minor intelligence: not even easy prey. Sometimes, she does wish she were sixteen again and the world were back to colourful and happy. Things seemed so easy when she was younger, and the more she's grown up, the more she's realized how the world really works. How complicated and fragile a relationship really is, and that love isn't anything that can be taken for granted, that friendship is something you have to tend to, or it will peter out. And yes, how bloody unobtainable real love is. Her relationship with Angel had seemed to be fate smiling at them, but it had only been a fairy tale, an utopian hope. Everyone after that, well. Stopgap would have been too harsh a word, but that was the notion. She's clueless at how she's ever going to reach some form of happiness. But then, maybe she isn't meant to. Maybe people aren't meant to stick around her. Then again, there is, of course, Willow, and Xander. Dawn, naturally. And Giles. 

She still doesn't know why he's always been on her side. Sure, to be her Watcher was his job, yes, a lifetime appointment, a duty. But she knows he's put more of his soul into it that he would have had to. He had tried to be her friend, her partner, and for a while, she had - more or less gratefully - accepted that. She wondered why she had pushed him away in the first place, and why that hadn't been enough to scare him away for good; she sure hadn't invited him back to be her friend, and yet, he had made too many sacrifices for her. Behind the crypta, there is a bench, and she sits down on it, pulling her legs up. She breathes in the cold night air. Slayers were supposed to fight alone, to live alone, to not be attached to anyone. She had broken that rule in every way possible, and yet, this premise had been branded into her soul. She, the Slayer, was supposed to be a loner, a solitary warrior, and it was still hard to combine all her wishes for friends and family and community with that deep-marked rule inside her. Thinking about it, she realizes that her whole life has been about finding a balance between the need to be alone and the need to belong to someone. Not that she'd ever obtained one, really. 

Sighing, she gets up. Giles had seemed to understand her, every version of her balance, or at least accepted it. Maybe he had known more about it, as a Watcher. But maybe he had understood because he had known the feeling? She doesn't know. She doesn't really _know_ him anyway, and the realization drives a flush of shame to her cheeks. They've known each other for so long, and even if she's saved his life sometimes, she has always taken from him more than she's ever given him back. And even though that's what Council propaganda has always said, and even if the Watcher really is supposed to be supporting the Slayer in the background, she's pretty sure that mustn't mean that he isn't to receive any gratitude, or friendship, or just some _niceness_ in general in return. Well, she's screwed things up. She buttons her jacket and buries the stake inside, slowly walking back out of the cemetery. The amount of pain she's caused him is something she's afraid she's never going to be able to make up for. After all, he's the only one who would have stayed with her through everything if she had asked him to. God, she knows how important he still is to her, and she doesn't know if she's ever going to be able to tell him that. Or if she should, for that matter. She hasn't allowed herself to love anyone, really anyone, for so long, except for Dawn. Dawn holds all her love. But apart from her little sister, she can't say she has really let anyone else feel that she loved them. Not since Sunnydale. Well, not since her resurrection, probably. 

Maybe she shouldn't, as the Slayer. But sometimes she feels as though she could burst with love. As if it has been waiting inside her, locked up for too long. She does make feeble attempts to show it to Willow and Xander, sometimes, and they do react in a similar way. But her heart has been longing to be given away, to be lent to someone who'd give theirs in exchange. She wonders if there's anyone who'd want to lend _her_ their heart. For a lifetime. She doesn't think so; she knows she isn't exactly the homely and loving girl someone would wish for. Not that she thinks she's going to be able to entertain a relationship with anyone who doesn't know about her ... Slayerish activities. Maybe she shouldn't be in a relationship after all. Maybe it's distraction. Maybe her destiny is to fight the world, alone. Well, not alone. But on her own. 

She leaves the cemetery and turns left. The trees are shaking in the wind, and she senses it's going to rain pretty soon. That's what the weather is like around here most of the time, after all. She doesn't mind. There are sunny days, too, and she doesn't miss the Californian sun that much anymore. It feels weird to be satisfied with something so different, and England really is different from where she has grown up. Maybe that's what growing up means, redifining your needs. At the next crossroad, she bumps into Willow; they both try not to look embarrassed, even if there isn't a reason why they should be. They exchange short explanations: Willow is headed home from Giles' place, and Buffy tells her about her boring patrol. Then, Willow's face drops and she gets very serious.  
"What is it, Will?"  
"Uh, nothing ... well ... It's Giles."  
Buffy feels herself tense up and start worrying. "What about him?"  
Willow looks up at her. "Ethan died. You know, Ethan R-"  
"Yes, Rayne, the bastard, I kn-"  
"He's at rock bottom, Buffy. I know you never liked Ethan, me neither, and I don't think Giles did, but you know he was his friend back when they were both young. And I don't think it's just about Ethan, to be honest."  
"What is it about, then?"  
"I-I don't know. I think he's thinking over his whole life. I guess Ethan's death made him realize how many regrets he has. Buffy, I know he's now an important figure inside the Council and all, we've all survived, he's back to England any everything ... He isn't happy."  
Buffy swallows. "Well, none of us really are, are we?" Willow smiles. "We could be happier, indeed. But it's not so bad. I guess it's okay. I don't think we're ready to be happy yet."  
Buffy grins back and then suddenly hugs Willow. "I'm glad you're here. I mean I'm glad we're both here, in Bath. And Xander." They pull apart, and Willow beams. "I'm glad too, Buffy. We've been through so much and it's just good to know that ... that we're still friends." They exchange a smile, and Buffy wonders what made her hug Willow. Or rather, what had kept her from hugging her friend these past months; it did her good. 

"Yeah, so, I don't know... I'm worried about Giles." Willow looks very concerned. "I've stayed with him almost the whole evening, but I really had to go now. You know, I teach Slayerette classes tomorrow. Hope he's going to be okay. Maybe you could check up on him tomorrow?"  
Buffy looks pensive. "I'm worried, too. Giles and the blues should be un-mixy things. I guess I'll stop by now. He's still going to be awake, isn't he?"  
"Yeah. Didn't look as if he was going to go to bed anytime soon," Willow mutters.  
"Okay, Will. Don't worry. I'll stop by and I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Hope it's just a passing phase."  
"Thanks, Buffy. But don't expect him to cheer up too soon. He's really ... down."  
They hug briefly and leave in opposite directions.

* * * 

When Buffy reaches Giles' house, she briefly considers ringing the bell or knocking, but remembering his place in Sunnydale, decides to try the doorknob. It's unlocked, and she creeps in carefully, quietly calling his name, and after a moment, gets a dry 'hmm' in response. He's in the living room, sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. She kicks off her shoes and, after a moment of consideration, just puts her jacket and stake on the floor, then walks up to him. He doesn't turn. "Hi," she tries. He doesn't answer, but after a moment, raises his tumbler. "You too?" She swallows; he doesn't seem too drunk, but he's definitely been at it for a while. "Um, yeah .. thanks." He leans over to the couch table to get a second tumbler and pours her a generous glass of Whiskey. She crouches down to take it, then sits down beside him, looking at the fire.

"I heard," she starts after a while, and seems to have torn him from his thoughts. "Hmm?"  
"Ethan. Willow told me."  
"Oh, yeah. Not that I didn't expect it," he says bitterly. Ethan had been involved in all kinds of dangerous business.  
"Yeah. I guess we all did, in a way," she replies. Another moment of silence passes, and he downs his half-full tumbler while she takes a careful sip. He tops himself up. She waits for a moment, then says, her tone suddenly very different and serious.  
"Giles, what's the matter?"  
He seems surprised. "Well - Ethan's dead, and-"  
"No. Don't give me that. I know there's more."  
He can't remember having a direct, heart-to-heart conversation with anyone in years. Silent, he stares at the fire. Since he's still not answering her, she carefully puts her left hand on his shoulder.  
"Tell me."  
"Why the sudden interest?," he grunts, immediately making her feel guilty.  
"Sorry," she whispers. He gives a half-amused "hmph". She gets a grip on herself and says, her voice firm again, "No, really. I'm sorry. I know this isn't enough, but I am. I've hurt you a lot, and not really cared about what's been going on in your life, especially lately. But I mean it. Tell me, Giles. What's going on? I need to know."  
It sounds very demanding, but for the moment, he's convinced. Maybe it's the alcohol that makes him give in; he doesn't feel drunk yet, but he knows he's quite far from sober. He sighs and takes a sip.

"Now that he's dead, I realize what I've achieved in my life, and it's not a lot. I'm thinking about what I've done with my life, and most of it is, erm, gone to waste. I never cared about the rest of my life while I was young, and then there was my calling. I mean, not that I - ... Being your Watcher was a good thing, and I liked doing it. Well, most of the time. But it's not what I feel bad about."  
"... You mean you've missed out on opportunities?"  
He rubs his hair, making them stand in all directions. "Something like that, yes." She waits for more and takes another careful sip. Sensing her expectation, he realizes he's supposed to go on. Well, damnit, then; he might just as well tell her all of it. Not that anything from his past could improve the opinion he thinks her to have of him, anyway. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning on them, letting the tumbler swing slightly between his legs.

He sounds bitter all along. "My parents have always placed high hopes on me. I did well at school. No friends, but I was collecting excellent grades. Then the military. I hated it, but at least I can aim with a gun now. Then, right before I was going to enter university, my father breaks the news to me. I couldn't cope with my destiny. Now why would I care about some Slayer? About vampires and all that c-crap? Short version, I did my best to go underground and got into, erm, not exactly the finest circles. The Eyghon stuff you know about was one thing, but before that, I basically went through all kinds of drugs I was able to put my hands on. I tried everything. Including, erm, women. Finally I made friends with Ethan, and that somehow helped me to see being destined to be a Watcher in a different light. Hell, if I was to be someone's protector, I was going to be the best at that. For more or less obvious reasons, people called me the Ripper. I involved Ethan in demon hunts and it ... well, we got a kick out of it." He glances at her from the side to read if she's already judging him, but her expression doesn't show him anything; it only makes him notice that the flames are reflected in her eyes.

"Ethan and I got quite a reputation for, erm, slaying things. We got into a kind of circle that was involved with magic. That's what Eyghon was about. Summoning him and having him take possession of you for a moment was the most dizzying, most satisfying thing on earth. It was like g-getting high, and it was glorious, provided that you still held on to yourself. Your soul, your personality ... You weren't supposed to surrender everything to Eyghon." He hears her swallow and knows she's anticipating what's next. "Randall gave himself up completely. Actually, I found a letter in his flat afterwards. He'd planned it as one of the most cruel ways to commit suicide. Well, and - Eyghon took over his whole body and soul and ... Ethan had the presence of mind to usher everyone out in time so they wouldn't get hurt. He'd planned to help me, but the demon had cornered me too soon. I just ... I stabbed it right in the heart. God knows how I knew where I was aiming. And I ... I killed Randall too."

His voice trembles a little, and he takes a large sip. His eyes are lost in the fire; Buffy tries not to look at him too often for fear that he's going to stop. She knows there's more. "You did what you had to do," she says quietly.  
He sounds harsh, too harsh. "Thanks. Don't know. Completely lost it after that. I won't tell you any details, but I knew I wasn't able to live with it. Ethan saved my life." Now, finally, she understands why Giles had refused to fight Ethan, initially.  
"I realized I couldn't go on like this, and that I was to live up to my goddamn fate. Got a grip on myself and went back home. Dad had died ... Mum hadn't known where to find me. I plunged into literature. Went to university, studied a truckload of different things. I read all I could find about mystical things and demons and just ... You know. The boring Watcher stuff. Again, no friends of course, I guess I keep repeating myself. I buried myself in books. Then, Mum died. It was unexpected, and I ... I never spent as much time with her as I would have liked to. The worst thing about having someone pass away is not being able to tell them things." She nods, and the instant he sees her move, he knows he has reminded her of Joyce. He takes another sip.

"So, twenty years after Randall, I finally get to do what I prepared to do. The Council sends me to California, to be your Watcher. Finally, I had a purpose. Something I was actually prepared for. Something I had done was finally going to pay off. God, how I looked forward to it. Change of scenery. I had so many hopes." He swallowed. "Not all of them were disappointed, of course. But I'd hoped to start a completely new life according to what I wanted, and ... Well, it didn't turn out that way," he concludes grumpily and tops himself off again.

She takes one more careful sip, then says, "But you've achieved so much. I know my point of view isn't helping. But it's true. Hey, you've kept me alive all these years. You prevented an Ascension. You've made friends - yes, don't look at me like that, you know we've always been your friends, even if we were being blunt and stubborn and silly. You've saved dozens of lives. You've had my back and fought basically everything from your Demon Encyclopedia. You solved Dark Willow. You've helped me with Dawn, and then the Potentials. And while it was bloody horrible to have you gone, you never really left me, you always came back. Oh, and must I remind you how you spat into the Council's face?" She grins a little, and he gives a small chuckle, even though it doesn't sound quite like him.

Then he seems to remember and his face grows dark again. Angrily, he takes a few sips. "Yes, I've achieved some things. But it's not enough. And while I may have at least _tried_ my best on the, erm, career level, I ... Well, maybe I have friends, maybe I still have them, I don't know, but other that that ---?" He looks at her reproachfully for a heartbeat, and she's so flabbergasted at his angry glance that she isn't quick enough to respond. His voice floats through the room in an angry, drunken sweep, razor sharp cynicism dripping from every word.  
"Meet Rupert Giles, the flop. Armyless warrior, heartless lover. Murdere-"  
Her calm, gentle words cut him off. "Stop it, Giles."  
"Yeah, thought you wouldn't want to hear that," he replies, and there's a hint of sorrow in it. He is about to down his glass in one, when she takes a hold of his hand and stops him mid-motion. The look in his eyes is wild and questioning. Putting her own tumbler down onto the carpet, she decidedly takes away his, emptying the liquid into the fireplace. Hers is next, and before he can comprehend what she's doing, the whole bottle in itself goes into the flames. If he weren't so surprised, he'd know he has made her resolute now. All done, she's suddenly calm again, calm but determined. He gives an angry sigh, and because he isn't arguing, she knows he's given up. Suddenly, all the pain and frustration, and also the alcohol, hits him again at once.

* * * 

She puts one hand on his shoulder. "I did want to hear. I asked for it. I wanted you to tell me. But what you said last was completely wrong." He breathes in to argue, but she's too fast. "You're not a flop. Life isn't supposed to work the way we want it to. And hey, I'm your army. Also, there's the Potentials. You know that. And of course we're still your friends. Dawn would never give you up. Neither would Xander, or Willow. And there's old Buffy, too. Yeah, it's just silly old stubborn me, lashing about, but I sure as hell am your friend." She surprises even herself with her protestation. Her words are pouring with emotion, and he knows she's as passionate about them as she used to be back in Sunnydale, defending something through her usual rambling. 

His voice is rough. "Thanks." He runs his palms over his cheeks, looking more than desperate. "I still have no-one, though." She looks him in the eye, confused. Hasn't she just listed -  
"You'd think that after forty-seven years of not exactly a calm life, there'd be someone you love, and someone to love you." She can almost taste the bitterness. "Well, there is," she replies stubbornly.  
He gives her a grin, and its spuriousness hurts her more than anything previous. "Sure. Thanks. I guess I know you all love me, in a way. That's not what I-"  
Her hand on his right cheek makes him freeze; he turns to look at her and suddenly sees moisture in her eyes. "I love you," she says, firmly, plainly, and leans over to him to cover his lips with hers. He's so surprised he forgets to breathe, and when she finally pulls back, a few stray drops have made their way down from his own eyes to his chin. He can't allow himself to smile; he gravely shakes his head and says to her, very sadly, his eyes locking with hers, "No, Buffy. Thank you, but we both know you don't want me."

That magically puts the smallest of smiles onto her lips, flickering over her expression only for a moment. "Speak for yourself." Again, she covers his lips with hers, and this time he kisses her back, and she feels him doing it as if he were to lose her forever. They pull apart, his cheeks wet in tears now, and he croaks, "I appreciate it. But now please go. Don't play with me." Shocked at the intensity of his emotion, she instinctively shakes her head; she cups both of his cheeks in her hand, facing him now, pulling him so close to her lips that he feels his heart almost stop. Never has he suffered so strong a desperation ever since Jenny died. There is the trace of a beautiful smile on her lips again as she whispers, "I want you." She kisses him once again before he can protest, then throws her arms around him and hugs him tight. Daring to hug her back only after a few moments, he bursts into tears, sobbing into her shoulder, only making her squeeze him a little, trying to reassure him. 

His body is shaking against hers, and she holds him. When she feels him move, she loosens her arms a little and he pulls away to look her in the eye. Indescribable pain, and self-disgust are written all over his face. He doesn't understand. "How can you want m-me? Buffy, look at me." Tears are streaming down his face; his voice sounds so vulnerable it's almost breaking her heart. He pulls away a little more, almost a reproach in his questions. "Look at me," he croaks. "I'm abominable. B-Beneath contempt. A wreck of a man. Why should you ever want me?"  
"Because I love you," she smiles, and, wrapping her arms around him, kisses him again so passionately but so lovingly that he wants nothing more than to believe her. Shifting even closer, she presses her body against him, muffling all his pain with the warmth that is radiating from her. When they pull apart again, breathless, he half-heartedly wipes away his tears, about to smile, but still too surprised. "Oh, dear Lord," he whispers, surprise and gratitude and redemption all in his eyes. She smiles at him so brightly that he's sure his soul will go up in flames. Very gently, she pushes him back so that he's lying down on the soft carpet. She bends over him and, very carefully, covers his whole body with hers, caressing his neck with very soft fingers, and very soft lips. Finally, he lets out a sigh that is at once filled with relief, resolution, and utmost bliss, and it shatters her to the core. 

She pushes herself up to him and carefully removes his glasses, kissing away his tears while she unbuttons his shirt. He opens his eyes, half expectation, half doubt, and whispers, "Are you sure? That you want me? Like this, I also think I'm ... drunk-" Her smile disarms him. Firmly, she replies, "I _am_ sure. I don't think I've ever been this sure about anything. And ... that doesn't change you. I meant it when I said I loved you, and that goes for all the yous there are." He has to fight himself in order not to cry, and she strokes his cheek. " _All_ the yous," she repeats, her smile melting away all the ballast he has built up inside against himself and that's been pulling his heart downwards, and they kiss as if it were an oath, a law only just resolved. 

When they finally make love on Giles' living room carpet, it is as if two atoms combine. When she wakes up before dawn, she reaches over to the couch and pulls the large, soft woolen blanket over both of them.  
When he wakes up at the first sunrays, the only thing in his field of view which he recognizes is one of the tumblers, and, believing to have woken alone, he feels his whole world come crashing down on him once again - until a soft hand searches for his shoulder, and a sleepy voice bids him good-morning. He turns around with a jerk, only to see the woman he has loved for so long lying on his carpet, stretching her arms, stifling a yawn and smiling, smiling, smiling at him. "Oh, dear Lord," he whispers again. Playfully, she asks, "What?," thinking it might be something about her morning hairdo. He clasps her to him, holding her tight. "You _really_ love me, don't you." She chuckles, and he feels her body humming against him as she does so. Wrapping her own arms around him, she laughs, "Of course I do, silly, I _said_ so!"

And her answer is so unmistakeably Buffy, so clearly practical and real, that he joins her in laughter, a laughter so genuine that he feels it stifle all that's still dark inside him for good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) Hope you liked it!  
> Please leave comments/reviews/kudos if you feel like it, it makes my day ;)


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